


Blind Man's Bluff

by vestigialwords



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Gen, M/M, could be gen, could be slash, depends on you really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 00:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vestigialwords/pseuds/vestigialwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Cougar had been certain about his gamble even when it was a risk, and being indecisive was not something that served a sniper well. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Inspired by Jensen's line: "What, and get cheated again?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Man's Bluff

Money was always first to go into the pot, but the cash had been exhausted a few rounds of betting ago. None of the Losers could realistically be described as fiscally responsible. There was a reason Pooch's money was sent to Jolene’s bank account first and rationed back to him, and why Clay's purchases were supposed to get an unofficial Losers' stamp of approval (though they rarely did). Jensen spent most of his cash on new parts for his computer, candy bars, and Red Bull, like he was twelve, and Roque had yet to meet shit odds he didn't like. Although in this game, with a six of clubs plastered to Jensen's forehead and a two of hearts stuck on Pooch's, Roque's odds really weren't all that shit. However, while the three of diamonds tucked under the brim of Roque's hat wasn't quite enough to take the pot, Cougar hadn't quite yet figured out what his own odds were. 

Roque seemed to have reached a final conclusion re: not having shitty odds, and slipped a bone-handled dagger out of his right boot. Cougar eyed the knife, careful not to let any reaction ghost across his face. The craftsmanship of the weapon was enviable - it was perfectly balanced, and had been probably been painstakingly hand-engraved by an ancestor of the man Roque stole it from. Roque was still for a moment before kissing the blade and lodging it quickly and firmly in the padding of the card table. Pooch flinched at the sudden violence of his movement and Jensen let out an undignified squawk, but Cougar had seen Roque telegraph his intentions as if he'd announced them loudly through a bullhorn. Twice.

"You do realize that ruins the playing surface, right Roque?" Jensen asked once he'd recovered his voice (immediately), "You could have just put it down on the table like a normal person." 

"I _could have_ put it in your thigh."

"Testy, testy. My turn then." Jensen gave a quick glance around the table, sitting back in his chair and taking in the value of everyone’s cards. Just when Roque was about to explode with impatience, Jensen reached into his hip holster and pulled out an old six-shooter, leaning forward to place it reverently at the center of the flimsy card table. He flopped back and chugged the rest of his beer, evidently in hopes of making the gamble a bit less painful. Pooch whistled loudly and shook his head slightly at the young man, who had dropped into an uncharacteristic silence. 

"Is that the gun your sister gave you when you got out of Basic?" 

"Yep."

"The one that used to be your mom's?"

"Yep."

"The one that she gave you when...?"

" _Yes_."

"You sure you want to do that, Jay?"

Jensen shrugged, cracking open another beer and cradling it against his chest like it was the last thing of any worth he had in life. It might have been.

By the time it came around to Cougar to fold or match everyone’s bets, Roque's knife and Jensen's pistol had pushed the total monetary value of the table up to about a thousand dollars. It was _actually_ worth quite a bit more, taking into account Pooch's "IOU Two Months of Cleaning Duty" on the table because the only other thing he had to his name was half of a roll of duct tape. He'd offered that up instead, but while Pooch could save all their asses and then make coffee with that half-roll, it was practically useless to the rest of them. And therefore better for everyone in the long run that he have it, anyway.

Cougar paused a moment, staring for a few seconds at each of the men sitting around the table. Pooch’s eyes flicked back and forth between the card tucked under Cougar’s hat and Cougar’s face, purposely not settling anywhere in particular. Roque leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and locked eyes with him. Cougar responded with the same sharp glare he focused down his scope during a mission, but Roque didn't flinch. Roque never flinched. Finally, he turned his gaze over to Jensen, who was all but sulking in his plastic lawn chair. Looking at the Jensen's misery, Cougar found himself making a snap decision. Regardless of what his own card was worth, he knew exactly how to sweeten the pot. Against every screaming instinct in his body, he trusted the kid to recognize his gesture for what it was, and ultimately not accept. He tilted his head to the side and offered a small, but genuine smile. Jensen was nothing if not a sucker for kindness. 

Jensen's eyes flashed with something that looked like gratitude, the sadness tumbling out of them, and a huge stupid grin coming over his face. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds and an image bounced off Jensen's glasses and was gone as quickly as it had come. If Cougar weren't a sniper, trained to notice things like glints and reflections, and to parse the quickest of images as if he'd been staring at them all day, he definitely would have missed it. But he was, so he hadn't. 

Without a word, Cougar poked one finger to hold the card to his forehead, ducked his head and put his other hand to the top of his hat. He pinched it along the crease, pulled up and forward, letting it tumble down to the table. If he was in for anything, he was in for all he was worth. 

The reaction around the table bordered on comical—Pooch made a sound like a strangled cat, Jensen dribbled a mouthful of beer over his Captain Hammer tee-shirt and nearly fell out his chair, and Roque blinked. 

"You sure you wanna do that, man?" Roque narrowed his eyes, quickly shooting them up to look at Cougar’s forehead. This was the first time Cougar had ever seen him bordering on nervous. "No take-backs."

Cougar shrugged. He had been certain about his gamble even when it was a risk, and being indecisive was not something that served a sniper well. 

"Well, I’m not sure any of us have anything we can raise against _that_ ," Pooch said on a weighty exhale.

"Aaaand, scene!" Jensen declared as he peeled his card from his forehead. Cougar sat back in his chair and watched Jensen's face fall as he realized what he had. Pooch and Roque quickly followed suit. Cougar smiled and plucked the card from his forehead, silently confirming what he already knew—seven of diamonds takes the pot.

 

Cougar returned the pistol three weeks later during a game of Five Card Draw when the sun hit Jensen’s glasses again and Cougar folded a full house, knowing full well that Jensen’s pair of kings would take the pot easily. 

But Roque's dagger and Pooch's IOU for clean up duty? That shit was _his_.


End file.
